Home Is Where You Are
by WinteRose
Summary: They took her family from her and now they're trying to take her home, but Arya Stark is ready to fight back. Arya returns to Westeros to take back Winterfell and finish off her list, but amidst all the lose, she finds Jon again and gains more than she ever could have imagined. M for later chapters. A/U, Older Arya, JonxArya
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Unbeta'd, but if anyone is interested, I'd love to have one. I haven't written ANYTHING in forever, so excuse the rust and be nice! There just isn't enough AryaxJon out there and this idea has been eating at me for weeks now. **

**There is a bit of a build up before JonxArya actually reunite but I did think it was important to include some triggers for certain events/feelings. As hard as I tried to avoid running my mouth (my thoughts? Words? Whatever) I couldn't help it, so please be patient! If you're looking for a quick read, this is not for you! Sorry **

****AU & Arya is 16** **

**Aaaaand… I own nothing. Well, Wilar is my baby, but all other canon folks are GRRM's, I just borrowed them for the evening. Hope you enjoy!**

**EDIT: I had originally written one long chapter, then it seemed to long so I published it as two, but… then they seemed too short, so I've edited them back into one! Sorry for any confusion!**

Chapter 1

The boat rocked back and forth as the storm's waves crashed against the hull. Wedged tightly into the cubby where their bedrolls sat, Arya rhythmically drew the whetstone over her blade. They had boarded _The Daft Weasel_ this morning, her and Wilar.

On his last trip to the taverns, he had come back with rumors from Westeros. Stannis Baratheon was King at the Wall and a Stark bastard, Jon Snow, was Lord Commander.

Her heart had lurched at the mention of Jon. She missed all of her family, there was no doubt, but Jon had always been special. There had always been a deeper connection between her and her half-brother. She could never really explain or fully understand it, but it was always there. She remembered the day he left for the wall, he had given her Needle and mussed up her hair, hugged her so tight she could barely breath and reminded her that he loved her, forever and always. And then he left. Just like everyone else, they all left.

But it was the last rumor that had cut Arya the deepest. Wilar had no idea who she truly was, he had always simply known her as Cat, an orphan girl from Westeros whose father had brought them over to Braavos and died shortly after. So when he nonchalantly threw out that Arya Stark had married Ramsay Bolton and turned Winterfell over to them, he had not been prepared for the fist that connected square with his jaw. She threw everything she could grab at him and called him a filthy liar, until he had finally managed to catch her wrists in his hands and still her long enough for her to regain some sense. Still, she had stormed out of her rooms and roamed Braavos through the night.

She had given up being No One a long time ago, but never reclaimed Arya Stark, she had remained Cat and lived in her rooms above a tavern. She worked odd jobs and used the skills she had learned at the House of Black & White to support herself. But in that moment, when she heard that her family's home belonged to someone else now, and it was her that had given it away (or at least that's what everyone believed), she felt a possessive need to reclaim herself, to be Arya Stark all over again. She had decided that night that she would reclaim her home. She would take back Winterfell. It had been without a Stark for too long and she was the only one left.

And now here she was, on a ship bound for White Harbor. Wilar had his blankets pulled up to his chin, snoring like an aurochs, and Arya couldn't help but smile at her friend, remembering fondly how they'd met.

C_oming out of a tavern in Ragman's harbor, a drunken fool thought Arya easy prey and tried to sneak up on her, dagger drawn, as she walked down an alley to her room above Moroggo's. She knew he was there all along, of course, waiting for the man to inch close enough before she reacted. But just as she was drawing her own dagger, the drunk man reaching a grubby fist to snatch a handful of her hair, another man barreled into her assailant sending all three of them tumbling to the ground. The drunk man stumbled to his knees, his dagger stabbing at everything and nothing, while the other man could only scramble out of reach, the blade missing him just barely with each thrust. Arya moved quickly, dropping to her knees just behind their attacker. Reaching one arm around the man's fat neck, she cupped his chin and jerked his head up, her other hand deftly drawing her dagger across his clammy skin. She released the man and he slumped forward, face first into the muddy dirt of the alleyway. She quickly went about stripping him of his weapons and rummaging through his pockets, cutting away at his purse strings, completely ignoring the man panting on the ground behind her. She knew if she acknowledged him right then, as angry as she was, he would likely end up dead too. She wiped her dagger on the dead man's cloak and tucked it back into her belt, emptying the contents of his purse into her own. As she was making to turn and leave the alleyway, she felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled around. _

"_Are you all..?" the man began but before he could finish, Arya slammed both her hands into his chest, pushing him back against the wall. _

"_Am I what? Am I all right?", she screamed, "I'm bloody fine! I was bloody fine before you showed up! You stupid!" She jabbed at his chest with her finger as if punctuating each word. The man, well, boy now that she had a better look at him, just stared at her, confusion on his face. He couldn't be more than four and ten, though his broad shoulders and muscular body made him look much older. She turned from him and paced around the alley. _

"_What were you trying to do, get yourself killed?", she demanded, but she got no answer. She turned back to the boy. "Well?", but when she made to look where his face had been a second ago, she found only a stone wall. Her eyes quickly traveled down and saw the boy heaped over on the ground, clutching at his side. _

"_Seven hells..." she grumbled to herself as she quickly drew the boy's arm over her shoulder. "Get up you Aurochs, come on, I'm not going to do all the work. This is all your stupid fault, you know…"_

_The boy could only mumble as he struggled to his feet and was lead back to Arya's room where she tended to his wounds and let him rest a few days. In that time, she had come to know Wilar better than anyone else in the years she'd been in Braavos. He was a crewman on a Westerosi ship, but he had stayed behind from the last voyage. He wanted some adventure and excitement and Braavos had always seemed like the best place for that. _

"_Well you've found your adventure and excitement, you clod," she remembered mocking him. _

_He had smiled at her, his big toothy grin, and smugly replied "More than I'd bargained for... and hardly worth the trouble, if you ask me". _

_He'd ducked out the way as she threw a nearby pillow at him, then chased her out of her room, through the common rooms and into the streets. Arya had laughed that day, truly laughed, more than she had in years. They became fast friends and spent most of their free time together. He had even insisted on following her when she told him she was leaving for Westeros. He never asked why and she never told him._

Although Arya had outwardly chastised Wilar for following her across the world "like a lost little pup", she was secretly grateful. She hadn't been home in years, she wasn't even sure she would recognize anything or remember how to get where she was trying to go. Wilar wouldn't have much better luck she was sure, but the thought of a companion made the task ahead seemed just a little less daunting.

Tucking her whetstone away, she carefully placed her dagger under her pillow and crawled into her bedroll. Just then, the ship lurched and her bag fell from its hook, knocking her on the head. Grumbling, she hung the bag back up and tied the straps on the hook over and over, sure it wouldn't slip off again. She turned her back to the wall, scowling, and gave her pillow a punch for good measure before tucking back into her bedroll and closing her eyes.

"Good night, stupid", she mumbled and exhaustion took her.

_She lay under a towering sentinel, her golden eyes gazing over the snowy landscape. She could hear her pack mates fighting over the last scraps of their kill at the bottom of the cliff as she licked the blood from her paws. The tangy metallic taste had made her cringe at first, but the more she dreamt as Nymeria, the less it seemed to bother her._

_She stood to rejoin them, shaking the falling snow from her fur, when she caught a strange scent. Stalking closer to the edge of the cliff, she raised her nose to the wind. Men. Many men. And horses. But something else, something familiar but too faint, hidden amidst the stench of so many bodies. Crouching low in the snow, she watched the horizon and waited as the scent grew stronger._

_In little time, she could see a blackness creeping out of the Northern mountains, over the untouched snow, like spilled ink seeping into a crisp white fabric. She stood and watched the mass that approached. She could see them now, hundreds of men, head to toe in black, followed behind by hundreds more. Some covered in grey and brown furs, some with the sigil of a black stag on golden tunics, red flames dancing around it. Others still bore sigils of houses she had once recognized but long forgotten. They were Northmen, that much she was certain, but her years away had dulled her memories of Maester Luwin's lessons._

_She watched the army march past, angling east as they approached the edge of the forest. She followed, stalking quietly along the ridge, looking down on the intruders. Distracted by her curiosity, she missed the scent, missed the approaching sounds. She turned, teeth bared, as the snow crunched behind. Too late. A huge weight slammed into her and she tumbled to the snow. All she saw was white, above her, below her, around her. White, and two red eyes staring into her own._

Arya jolted awake. Sitting up, she drew her knees to her chest. _I need air._ On her feet, she tiptoed over Wilar's body, now splayed across his own bedroll and half of hers, still sound asleep. She rolled her eyes. _He could sleep through a war, curled up in the middle of a battlefield._

She quietly closed the cabin door and made her way to the deck, her bare feet stepped lightly over the wood beneath her making no sound. Up on deck, she wandered lazily to the rail, dragging her fingers over the wet wood until she reached the stern of the ship.

Finding some crates anchored to the deck, she leaned back against them and closed her eyes. The sea mist splashed lightly over her skin, the breeze cooling her, and she almost forgot why she was up there. But the red eyes, staring, as if into her very soul, would not leave her.

_Ghost. He was the familiar scent. It had to be. There were hundreds of Night's Watchmen. Why wouldn't Jon be with them, and if Jon was, so was Ghost. But in the Wolfswood? No, that doesn't make sense. Jon should be at the wall. Or beyond it even. But then, was Nymeria beyond the wall too? It's been so long since my last wolf dream, she could have moved anywhere by now. And Stannis's men? He's King at the Wall, his men would be there too._

It hurt Arya that she knew so little about Nymeria, about Jon. It hurt more to know that, wherever they were, Nymeria was so close to Jon and she wasn't. She wished that she had run to the army of men in her dream. She wanted so desperately to see him, it didn't seem to matter right then that they would have most likely killed her. If she had gotten just one glimpse of Jon, to know he was alive and ok, she knew it wouldn't have mattered.

She leaned over the rail and watched the waves crash against the hull. It was easier to forget when she was far away, nothing reminding her of home. But now, she was less than a fortnight from White Harbor, on her way to reclaim her family's lands, and her wolf dreams had come back. The closer she got to Westeros, the less was left of Cat, No one, Beth, and everyone else she had become to push away Arya Stark.

She knew she had to be Arya again, it was the only way. She was ready to go home, ready to avenge her family and make them proud and reclaim Winterfell. But she was not ready for the hurt. The deaths of most of her loved ones, the not knowing of the others, the reminder of all the people who had left her. And there had been many. But Jon had hurt the most.

She knew it wasn't right or fair, to feel that way, but she did. If anything _she_ had been leaving Jon when she went to King's Landing. He would have been left behind with a woman who hated him, a brother whose new responsibilities would keep him very busy, and two others who were too young to be any real companionship. She and Jon had been each other's closest companions. They had shared secrets, fears, triumphs and failures with each other that no one else had been privy to. While most of the Stark children had been close to each other, none had been closer than Arya and Jon. And she had left him. _He had to leave, there was nothing left for him at Winterfell._

Her mind was so wrapped up in her thoughts of Jon that she had not heard Wilar approaching.

"Cat?" He squinted into the shadows where she stood.

"Here, Wil"

"Ugh.. don't disappear that like, you scared me half to death. In case you forgot, we're on a ship full of sellswords and shady folks. " he drew his blanket tighter around himself, shuffling over to stand beside her. No merchant ship had been willing to give them passage to Westeros for the amount of coin they had, so she had bartered their way onto a smuggler's ship.

"So sorry, father. It won't happen again!" she threw her hands up in mock surrender before rolling her eyes.

"Har har, you're not as cute as you think, you know…"

"No? You must follow me around for my cooking then", she smirked.

"Of course! There's nothing like a severe case of gut-rot to keep me coming back for more!" he rubbed his stomach and licked his lips, bursting into laughter when Arya elbowed him in the stomach before laughing herself.

After a few moments they grew quiet again and Arya leaned back over the railing, watching the water. Wilar eyed her curiously.

"You ok?"

"Sure"

"Uh huh…"

Arya scowled at him. She shivered as the wind picked up.

"It's nothing"

"C'mere, you stubborn mule", Wilar wrapped the blanket around both of them and pressed Arya close to him. "You can tell me, Cat, please."

Arya remained quiet, staring off into the sea.

"Right. Well, if you won't tell me then I'll have to guess. Here we go… Your favorite dolly fell overboard. Hmm?"

Silence.

"You have a steamy crush on the potbellied captain, but he doesn't return your feelings because he prefers sheep?"

This time Arya eyed him sideways but still said nothing.

"Ok ok… look Cat. I know you want to be with me, but it just wouldn't be right. That time that I professed my feelings for you and you laughed in my face? A rouse. Clearly. I was trying to throw you off guard so you wouldn't realize why I truly stayed with you. You see… you are just so… proper, you know, ladylike." Wilar felt Arya tense a little in his arms. "I knew I could learn how to be a proper woman from you and go on to live out my dream in a traveling theater troupe as one of those prissy man-women who always play female roles".

The image of Wilar in an elaborate gown, face smeared in make-up, prancing around like a dainty woman forced a snort out of Arya before she could catch it.

"Gotcha", he beamed, tightening his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.

"You are _so _stupid."

"And you love me all the same."

The silence settled back in. Arya _did_ love Wilar, she knew that much. Not the same way he loved her, of course, but he was her best friend. He had never pried into her past, never tried to force her to be someone else, to change her in any way. He had accepted her the way she was from the day they met and she would always be grateful to him. _I've lied to him so many times, he doesn't even know my name._ Suddenly it hit her. He was going home with her. Home, where people would know her, know Arya, not Cat. He would find out that she had lied to him. _He can't find out like that, it wouldn't be fair._

"Wilar", she turned in his arms and pulled away. "Why did you never ask why I wanted to leave Braavos?"

"Not sure… Guess it never really mattered". He shrugged, sitting on the deck, his back against the rail.

"How could it not matter? We left our homes, everyone we knew, a decent life, to go back to a place neither of us should even recognize anymore." She kneelt on the deck beside him. "And you didn't even think twice about it. Seven hells, you were ready to go before I was!"

As she stared at him questioningly, she could faintly see the blush that crept up his cheeks in the pale lantern light.

"Erm, well," he stammered, staring intently at his feet as he toed a loose piece of deck. "Ugh, look. You're sort of the only person I've ever been this close to… You know I never had a family. The merchant ships were fun and all, but the crew was always changing. I always felt alone before I met you. Guess it wasn't really a question in my mind. I didn't leave my home, I'm following it to Westeros."

Arya could only stare at her friend, her silence causing him to shift uncomfortably, unable to lift his gaze from his feet. She knew in that moment that he would never betray her, no matter what she said or did, she could trust him with her life. _He deserves to know._

"My name isn't Cat."

"Aurochs like lemon tarts." They stared at one another for a moment before Wilar continued.

"Well, I figured we were spitting out rubbish." Arya rolled her eyes at him.

"My name isn't Cat", she repeated. "I lied to you, I'm sorry."

Wilar stared off into the distance letting her confession sink in.

"So?" he finally answered, turning to look at her.

"So… what?"

"So who are you then?"

"My name is Arya."

"Arya." He let the name roll off his tongue, as if testing it. He repeated it again as he looked her over, making sure it suited her. "I like it, I guess."

"That's it? You like it? You're not mad?"

"I'm hurt. You lied to me. But it's just a name, Ca… Arya. It's not like you've lied to me about your entire past ." He chuckled a little. Arya stared at him, sadness and guilt painted on her features.

"Right?" he urged, concern growing as he waited for a denial that never came.

"I'm sorry", was all she could say, her eyes downcast.

Wilar bolted to his feet and stormed towards the cabin. Steps from the door, he whirled around and marched right back to her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, drawing her face to within inches of his.

"Why?" he demanded, squeezing her arm painfully.

"You're hurting me, Wil!"

"_I'm _hurting _you_?" he growled back, his grip tightening even more.

Arya drew her free arm back and slammed her fist into her friend's jaw. Wilar dropped her arm instantly and grabbed at his face, moaning in pain. She jumped back out of his reach and rubbed at her arm, waiting for him to recover.

"I'm.. . I'm sorry", he mumbled finally. His hands dropping limply to his sides, he leaned back into the rail.

"S'okay."

"No, it's not..."

"Wil, I didn't lie because I wanted to." She offered, as she moved to his side. "I _had _to. To stay alive. I became Cat long before I met you, and by then I had buried who I used to be so deep… I barely remember her. Myself."

Wilar turned to look at Arya, shocked to see a tear streaming down her cheek.

"The day you came from the tavern with rumors of Westeros. You spoke of Ramsay Bolton taking over Winterfell…"

"Aye," Wilar nodded. "You punched me when I told you he married Ary…" Arya watched as his face turned from confusion to realization. She smiled weakly at him.

"Arya Stark?", he almost yelled.

"Sshh! Stupid! Someone will hear!"

"Arya Stark", he repeated quietly. "But you've been with me, how could you have married the Bolton?"

"I didn't. They must have gotten someone to pose as me. And now they've taken Winterfell."

Wilar sat dumbfounded. He had lived in Westeros until his 11th name day. He'd spent time in the North and knew enough of its history, he had heard the stories of the War of the five Kings, he knew full well just who was seated next to him. The daughter of the once Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, sister of the deceased King in the North. His best friend, his Cat, was Arya Stark of Winterfell.

"Arya…"

"Hmm?"

"You better not be thinking of doing what I think you're thinking of doing." He scowled at her. "Arya?"

"It's my home, Wil. I won't let them use me to take it. They've taken everything from me. This time I'm taking it back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He picked up the wolves' scent long before they reached the edge of the forest. Ghost knew Jon would be safe from any immediate danger surrounded by all of his brothers, so he sprinted off towards the source. Wolves were a danger, too, and as many as he could smell, they would certainly a threat to the men. As he disappeared into the trees, he glanced back at Jon, who nodded before turning to continue his march.

He put his nose to the ground, running quickly through the trees, the scent getting stronger and stronger. He knew he was close now, he could hear yelps and growls and the air was filled with the stench of a fresh kill. He approached quietly, stalking just to edge of the clearing ahead.

At the other end of the clearing, at the base of a cliff, several deer carcasses lay strewn over the snow, wolves pulling and tugging at the little meat that remained. There were enough to make up several packs, yet they all seemed to be too friendly, despite the usual fights over scraps, not to be one. He wanted to rush the clearing, claim what was left of the kills for his own as prey was becoming harder to find as the snows continued. But he knew he was outnumbered. Despite his size, the sheer number of smaller wolves was too great a risk for him. As he lingered watched the scene before him, he sniffed at the air one last time, making sure the scent of Jon's men had passed them by unnoticed, before turning to leave.

He walked a different path back, searching for a meal of his own. But the further he wandered from the small wolves, he sensed a different, more familiar scent. He climbed a nearby ridge and followed it towards the source. He could faintly smell Jon's men again, but much stronger, he now recognized the familiar scent. Bounding across the ridge, he could see her up ahead. As he burst into the open, paws crushing the snow beneath his weight, she turned to him, teeth bared.

He lunged at her, knocking them both into the snow as they wrestled for dominance. Somewhere in all the tumbling, Nymeria had recognized him and her vicious snarls quickly became playful nips, as Ghost won the battle and pinned her beneath him. Nymeria's ear pinned back in submission and Ghost stood aside, satisfied with himself. He had been the runt of the litter, but now he stood taller and more muscular than his sister.

They circled around each other, trying to reacquaint themselves when Ghost finally caught wind of prey nearby. He nuzzled Nymeria as he turned towards the trees, as if directing her to follow. She understood perfectly, and as ghost took off running to catch his dinner, she sprinted after him and quickly overtook him. Ghost was more than willing to play her game and sped up so they ran neck and neck deeper into the forest.

"Ghost!" Jon yelled from the edge of camp, "To me!"

"D'you think he's gone ahead to scout, maybe?" Grenn asked, tucking his hands into his armpits for warmth.

"Aye, he's countin' up the forces ahead, making ye a nice tally. I'm sure he'll have a full report fer ya when he gets back." Edd muttered sarcastically.

Grenn scowled at Edd, kicking snow in his direction. Jon cracked half a smile as he turned away.

"Ghost!"

"He's having a right better meal than we've had in weeks, no doubt" Edd offered, standing beside Jon to look out into the darkness beyond their camp. "He'll be back soon, he always is."

Jon nodded to his friend, though his eyes never left the landscape. Ghost always left the men to hunt, and Jon knew his direwolf understood that most of the others, especially Stannis's men were uncomfortable around him if not downright scared. He would often leave his side sometime during the early day and not return until they had set up camp for the night.

It had all seemed normal, as Ghost bounded off shortly after they reached open ground outside the mountain ranges. Jon and his men had continued their march, skirting east as they approached the trees. But when they had halted their march for a short break just after midday, Jon had sensed something strange.

He had been deep in conversation with Edd and one of Stannis's Commanders when he had gotten a strong sense of Ghost. It had happened before, though rarely, but usually if Ghost seemed in trouble, Jon could sense it. This time, however, it hadn't felt like trouble. He would say it had been more like… relief? Happiness, even. But Jon couldn't quite make sense of it all.

After they had set up camp for the night and he was ready to retire, he had gone looking for Ghost. He wanted to understand what he'd felt earlier. He wanted to make sure Ghost was all right.

Returning to his shelter, Jon bid his friends good night as he ducked inside. They would set off again early tomorrow and it wouldn't do for him to sit up all night waiting for Ghost. _He'll come back when he's ready. He's fine._

Jon lay Longclaw on the ground beside him and pulled his cloak tightly around him, nuzzling in on himself to keep warm. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"Jon!"

"Lord Commander!"

"Snow!"

Jon awoke to the screams coming from the camp. Groggy at first, he wasn't quite sure what he was hearing, but he quickly picked out the sounds of weapons being drawn, and men yelling. _We're under attack! _As he scrambled to his feet, Longclaw in hand, Grenn popped his head into the shelter.

"Erm, Jon, you better come quick. We have… a problem"

Jon stared after Grenn questioningly, but the other man had already turned to run back towards the noise. Ducking out of the shelter, Jon grabbed a torch and hurried to follow.

As he approached the circle of men where Grenn had disappeared, his confusion only grew. _What in the Seven hells…_

"Kill them!

"Put your swords away!"

"Those beasts are not natural! They'll kill us all!"

"You'll put your sword down, now! Or I'll kill ye meself!"

Jon pushed through the men as best he could, but they were so immersed in the scene before them that no one paid him any mind, Lord Commander or not.

"Move!" He yelled as he elbowed and pushed towards the front.

Someone inside the circle must have seen him approach as they began to yell at everyone to make room. Finally, as people started to part before him, he was able to make out what the commotion was.

At the far end of the circle, behind a wall of Crows with weapons drawn, stood Ghost, one of Stannis's men dead at his feet. Jon was shocked enough to see that, but when he made out a second direwolf, just a little smaller than his own, standing just behind Ghost he froze.

"Jon!" Grenn yelled to him, as Edd held off more of Stannis's soldiers at sword point.

He quickly snapped out of his shock and ran to put himself between his Crows and Stannis's men.

"Stop this now!" He yelled. "What in the Seven hells is going on? Ghost, Down!". Ghost lay in the snow, and the men finally lowered their weapons, Edd and the other black brothers quickly following suit.

"That thing killed Jonah!" One of Stannis's men spat out.

"Jonah attacked _that thing. _Stupid boy", Edd retorted, coming to stand at Jon's side.

Stannis's men burst into angry screams calling for them to kill the direwolves. Jon drew Longclaw and stared them down.

"No one will harm the direwolves, or they'll answer to me. Do not forget, your King put you in my charge and there are far more men here loyal to me than Stannis."

As if to make his point, the Crows and Northmen that had gathered shifted until they stood at Jon's back, leaving only Stannis's men on the other side, vastly outnumbered.

"Well, Jonah was a fool, and I don't mind sayin' I'd just as soon have those beasts on my side as not." A soldier shouted from Stannis's ranks.

Murmurs of agreement rang through the crowd, and soon they were all turning to leave, heading back to their camp, leaving the soldier standing before Jon alone. The man quickly backed off, grumbling to himself, as he turned and walked away.

When Jon was sure the threat was gone, he sheathed Longclaw and turned back towards his next problem.

"Mors," he called to a Northman nearby, "please see to Jonah." The man nodded and nudged his friend beside him. Together, they carried away the mangled body.

Sensing the excitement was all but over, the Crows and Northman shuffled back into their respective camps leaving Jon, Grenn, Edd and the two massive direwolves alone.

Jon stood watching the two wolves. Ghost had not moved from where he had laid down, but the other direwolf had lain down next to him. Both wolves mirrored his stare.

"Should we do something?" Grenn whispered to Edd.

"And what do you propose we do, exactly?"Edd replied.

Grenn could think of nothing, so he stood quietly beside Edd as Jon and the wolves watched each other.

Finally breaking the stalemate, Jon walked over to the direwolves and knelt in the snow before them. He absentmindedly scratched behind Ghost's ears as he looked more closely at his companion.

A smile crept across his face and suddenly he was laughing. He lunged towards the second direwolf and hugged her tightly around the neck, his laughter ringing out into the night.

"And he's lost it…" Edd joked, a small smile on his own face. Grenn elbowed him before cautiously walking to sit beside Jon.

"Jon?"

But he was in his own little world. He hugged the new direwolf tightly, tears stinging at his eyes, but he would not cry. He understood now what he had felt from Ghost earlier. Both wolves now began to lick at Jon, ghost playfully knocking him over. Grenn jumped up and moved away. He was used to being around the giant wolf but being crushed by it was another thing all together.

Edd and Grenn watched the reunion before them, matching curious expressions on their face. When Jon's laughter finally died, he lay contently in the snow between the two direwolves and turned towards his friends.

Sitting up, he put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together, a giant smile still plastered on his face.

"Grenn, Edd.. I'd like you to meet Nymeria. Ghost's sister." He said, scratching behind her ears. "Arya's direwolf."

"Hi Nymeria! It's nice to meet you!" Grenn spoke loudly and slowly, as if to make it easier for the wolf to understand.

"It's a wolf, ya idiot, not a foreigner" Edd shook his head as he walked forward and held his hand out to Nymeria. She smelled him cautiously then rubbed her head into his hand.

Grenn imitated Edd but before he could reach Nymeria, Ghost had tackled him to the snow and laid his head across his chest.

"Oi! I can't breathe!" Grenn gasped. Ghost let his head lull to the side and licked him full across the face. "Bloody hell!"

"I think he's claimed you for his own", Edd laughed and Jon joined in while Grenn pushed at the giant wolf to get off him.

They sat a little while longer before Grenn and Edd decided to go back to sleep. Jon agreed, leading Nymeria and Ghost through the camp but he knew it would be hard to sleep any more tonight.

As he neared his shelter, he realized the direwolves would not fit inside and he couldn't bear the thought of separating from them after just having reunited. He found a clearing nestled between some sentinels not far off.

"We'll sleep here tonight", he told the wolves.

Ghost moved first and settled himself in, then Jon sat beside him and leaned into him for warmth. They often slept like this when they were outdoors so the motions were second nature to the two. Nymeria approached slowly; as if unsure she was welcome. Jon reached out and called her to him.

"Nymeria, come"

She lay on the other side of Jon, her head resting just beside Ghost's and the two direwolves nuzzled together, Jon sandwiched between them. He smiled, though a part of him hurt. He wondered what it would be like if he reunited with Arya. _Not if, when. He won't kill her. But I'll kill him. _His blood boiled at the thought of Ramsay Bolton. HisArya, who would never be a lady, never marry, and now he'd taken her. _She's not yours, Snow. _But no matter how many times he tried to remind himself of that, something inside Jon surged with sheer possessiveness every time he thought of Arya with the Bolton.

When he had first heard of her wedding at Castle Black, he refused to believe it. Arya had long been presumed dead and even if she had lived, nothing in the world could have made her marry that man. But the ravens soon began to arrive, with several accounts from witnesses that Theon Greyjoy himself had given her away in place of any relatives and Jon could no longer deny it.

He had locked himself in his rooms that day. He screamed and cursed, sat quietly on the floor as tears streamed down his face, thrown everything he could pick up, then screamed and cursed some more. He tried to remind himself that he was a man of the Watch now, he had no family, could do nothing for her. But his anger grew as the days passed. He began to ask questions of the other Crows, ones who had been south recently; he wanted to know everything he could about Ramsay Bolton.

The stories they shared made his stomach turn. When he had first heard of her presumed death at the Red Wedding, it had hurt so much more than even Robb's or his father's, and though he had been angry when he learned of Bran and Rickon, it paled in comparison to the rage that boiled inside him when he thought he'd lost her. He had wanted to leave then and there and kill every Frey he found, but his duty to the Watch (and Sam) had stopped him. Then he had learned that she was actually alive, his relief and joy quickly crushed by the knowledge that she lived in the hands of such a monster. But he promised himself he would not lose her again.

A quiet whine from Nymeria snapped him out of his thoughts. Her golden eyes stared at him and he could swear she understood what he was thinking. He smiled at her warmly and tucked himself deeper between the two direwolves.

"We'll get her back," he reassured her.

Once the wolves were sleep, Jon closed his own eyes and drifted off, silently praying to the old gods that he wasn't too late.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm so glad people are liking this so far! Please keep the reviews coming, they make me all giddy and excited to get started on the next chapters. And sorry for the little delay in updates, sadly, I have this thing called life that keeps demanding my attention. What's that all about?**

**Anyway, here you go, enjoy!**

**(I should add that Arya is aged up a little during the whole Robert's visit to Winterfell retelling, about 12. I couldnt quite make it work with her being as young as she should technically be, but hey, that's why its AU fanfic!) **

**Now go! Read!**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"And…" He smirked as he threw his cards down in front of them. "I win _again."_

She stared at him, eyes narrowed, causing him to burst into laughter.

"You cheat! There's no way!" Arya threw her cards at Wilar, who only laughed harder.

"Did not!" He finally managed as he tried to catch his breath.

"It's ok to be bad at something, you know. And you," he leaned on the floor, resting on his elbows, "are a horrible card player."

"_I_ am a fine card player. _You_ are a cheat. There's a difference." She huffed. "Anyway, I can beat you where it counts, so you can have your cards."

Wilar tried to suppress another fit of laughter and Arya glared at him from across the room.

"You laugh one more time, Wil, I swear it, I _will _hurt you!" She warned, stepping towards him.

He sat up, and shook his head at her.

"Well, it's not very lady-like to make threats." Before he'd even finished speaking he was already ducking.

Arya's fist whizzed just past his head and her momentum spun her around. Wilar jumped to his feet, and grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her over his shoulder.

"Beat me where it counts, eh? I think I win again." He joked. He expected her to kick and punch him until he put her down but she didn't move.

"Arya?"

"Put me down, Wil" She said quietly. "Please."

He quickly set her on her feet, concern etched on his face.

"Did I hu…" He doubled over and clutched his stomach as Arya's fist connected with his belly. She smiled at him sweetly as he groaned in pain.

"I am not a lady" she said "And, _I_ win"

Wilar dropped to his bedroll, still clutching at his stomach. Arya ignored him as she stepped over him and reached for her pack.

"Ugh, you'll be the death of me, woman," he groaned, but he smiled all the same. This was normal for them, and it was nice to get back to normal. Normal felt good.

It had been several nights after she revealed her true identity before Wilar would speak anything more than courtesies to her. Yes, please, no, thanks, but finally he had decided that, Arya or Cat, she was his friend. Her name, her past may have changed, but she had not. She was the best friend he had ever had and nothing would change that.

"We should pack up our things and get some rest," she said, breaking him from his thoughts. "Captain says we're getting close."

She walked around the room, bundling up the clothes and trinkets they had left out.

"Will he take us all the way to the harbor, then?" he asked, grabbing his own pack from the wall.

"No. Says it's too dangerous to bring a ship full of smuggler's to port. He'll anchor just outside The Bite and row us to the inlet east of Old Castle. He doesn't think the waters have frozen yet." She cinched the ties on her pack tightly and hung it back on the wall. She turned to Wilar. "We'll be on our own from there. Wil, you don't have to come with me, now that you know everything. I wouldn't blame you if you'd rather go your own way."

"And let you have all the fun?" he answered. Pausing from his own packing, he stood before her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I meant what I said that night, Arya. You are the closest person to me and I followed you here to stay with you. Killing a monster and taking back your home is just a bonus."

Arya smiled and nodded. It would be much easier to do what she had to do by herself. She had, after all, trained as an assassin, but she still couldn't deny that having someone who wouldn't leave her made her feel warm inside. As she turned back towards the rest of her belongings, she paused.

"Wil."

"Mhmm?"

"The monster is mine to kill."

Wilar nodded thoughtfully before returning to his own packing.

Finishing up, he added his pack to the hook beside Arya's. When he turned back towards her, she was looking down at a rolled up cloak with something tucked inside.

"Was it really a gift from your brother?"

"What?" she asked, snapping out of her thoughts.

"That sword, Needle?", he gestured to bundle in her hands, "Was it really from your brother?"

"It was" She smiled. She held the package to her and sat on the floor, motioning for Wil to join her.

"Not everything was a lie. It _was_ given to me by my brother before we parted, but he didn't leave to work as a stable hand in the nearby town, and he wasn't killed in a riot at the start of the war." She had unwrapped the cloak as she spoke, and now she grasped the hilt.

"See here?" She pointed to the markings on the blade. "It was forged by Mikken, the Master Smith at Winterfell. Jon had it made for me before he left for The Wall."

Wilar watched her closely, he could see the pained look in her eyes when she said Jon's name. She had spoken to him of all of her family at night, when they sat whispering quietly until sleep took them. She had loved them all dearly, he could see that, but she had always avoided speaking of her bastard brother. He had assumed she simply wasn't as close to him as the others, but now he saw different.

"You were close?" he asked quietly, as he watched the candles' flames dance off the thin steel in her hands.

"The same night that King Robert came to Winterfell, we had a grand feast in his name. Mother refused to have Jon seated anywhere near the King, she thought it would be an insult to him." She said, the last part with anger in her voice. "so Jon refused to come to the dinner at all, instead he trained in the yard well into the night."

She paused her story to wrap the cloak back around her prized possession, before continuing with a smile on her face.

"I threw a spoonful of pudding at Sansa after dessert. Mother was furious," she laughed and Wilar smiled at her." Anyway, she sent me to my rooms right away, but I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about how much Jon must have been hurt. So I climbed out of my window and walked along the rooftops until I reached the training grounds. Jon was still there, talking to Tyrion Lannister about going to The Wall with Uncle Benjen."

Wilar watched her intently as she told her story. There was a childlike exuberance about her when she spoke, he had never seen it in her before and it amazed him. Arya frowned as she continued.

"I got angry when I heard that. As soon as the Imp left, I climbed down from the rooftop and stood before Jon. I could only stare at him, I didn't know what to say, I wanted to yell at him, but I couldn't, he looked so hurt and alone. My heart broke for him and tears streamed down my face. He took me in his arms and spoke comforting words. He was the one in so much pain, I was just a spoiled brat, yet he was comforting me and telling me things would be all right."

Arya reached up her hand and wiped a tear from her cheek. Wilar gave her other hand a squeeze.

"That's who Jon Snow was. Is." She reminded herself. "He snuck me back into my room and he stayed with me. We talked, and laughed and he held me until neither of us could stay awake any longer."

"So you were close?" Wilar asked again, trying to lighten the mood with feigned stupidity. It worked.

"Yes, we were close, stupid." Arya laughed. She sighed loudly, and got up, replacing the rolled up cloak by her boots.

"I think I'll turn in", Wilar said, crawling over to his bedroll. "If tomorrow's the day, we should both get some rest."

"Fine. Could you try to contain your flailing arms in your own bedroll tonight? I think I have enough bruises already." She tucked herself into her own bed.

"Yes, Mi'lady" he chuckled and Arya smacked his face with her pillow.

She blew out the candle and lay in the darkness, thinking back on that night at Winterfell. She had never felt safer or more comfortable than when she was wrapped in Jon's arms that night. She knew it was wrong, but that night, something had changed for her. She had pretended to be asleep, hoping he would follow suit and he had. When his breathing had slowed, she remembered opening her eyes and watching the moonlight dance over his face. She felt stupid for wanting to reach out and touch his cheek, she felt like one of those stupid girls in Sansa's stories. She'd never even thought a boy was cute, she'd never really thought of boys at all, but when she looked at Jon sleeping peacefully in her bed, she couldn't believe how beautiful he was.

Her mind had raced, screaming at her to stop, but her hand moved on its own. She drew her finger across his slightly parted lips, she gasped at how soft they were. She reached up and brushed a curly strand of dark hair from his forehead. She was so lost in his beauty that she hadn't noticed his eyes staring back at her. He had snatched her hand from his hair and continued to stare at her. She looked down in shame waiting for Jon's anger but it never came. Finally she looked back up. She could see Jon was fighting with something. He worked his lip between his teeth as he looked out the window.

"Jon" she started, he cut her off.

"Arya, what" but he couldn't finish.

"I'm sorry" she blurted out before he continued. She had begun to panic then. He couldn't even talk to her, couldn't look at her. "I'm sorry, Jon. Don't hate me, please. I don't know what I was thinking, but I couldn't stand it if you hated me or.."

"Arya," Jon interrupted again, this time he turned to face her. He reached towards her cheek but stopped, instead planting his hands firmly on the bed. He took a deep breath and continued. "I could never hate you, Arya. Never. But we are brother and sister, that is all we can ever be" He looked back down as he spoke and Arya thought she could see his own disappointment on his face. Was he disappointed with her? Or that they could only be siblings? _Don't be stupid,_ she'd told herself _you're a horse-faced little girl._

"I know, Jon, I'm sorry. I just… " She stood from the bed and turned to walk away, but Jon grabbed her hand. She turned back around.

"You are a beautiful young lady, Arya, don't ever think you're not." He rose from the bed, "I should go."

This time it was Arya that grabbed at Jon.

"Don't go." She pleaded, and Jon obliged.

He sat back down on the bed, and opened his arms for Arya. She nestled back in, her head under his chin and closed her eyes. The last thing she remembered before she had drifted off to sleep was Jon nuzzling into her hair, and clutching at her a little tighter than he had before.

She smiled at the memory, and wrapped herself tighter in her blankets. Just as she closed her eyes, there was a knock at the door

She sat up and waited. They knocked again.

"Wake up" she nudged Wilar's shoulder. "One moment!" she yelled at the door.

She got up, tucking her dagger into her belt and waited for Wilar to do the same. When he nodded, she opened the door.

"Sorry to bother ye, but there's trouble on deck" The crewman eyed her up and down then looked over at Wilar and spat on the floor. The captain was the only one who ever called on her and he always sent his scullion to fetch her. Arya knew right away that something was off.

"And what does that have to do with us? Do you always come looking for passengers to fix the ship's troubles? Where's your captain?"

"Huh", he grunted "It's the Captain what's in trouble."

"All right, give us a moment then" she closed the door in the man's face and hurried over to her boots.

"Get the packs, get everything. Forget the beds." She whispered.

"Arya…"

"Cat!" she motioned angrily to the door to remind him that someone was in earshot. "Something's wrong Wil, if we have to get away quickly we'll need our things! Hurry!" She slung one pack over his shoulder and thrust the other into his hands.

"Get away quickly? We're on a ship in the middle of the narrow sea!" He secured the packs on his back and slipped his own boots on.

She gripped the door handle and waited for Wilar to finish before pulling it open.

"Lead on, then" she motioned for the crewman to go ahead.

They walked the hall in silence and Arya strained to pick up any sounds that might give her a clue as to what was going. All she could hear was laughter and cheers.

The crewman pulled open the cabin door and she stepped out onto the deck. Before her stood the rest of the crew, staring back at her. The one who had come to get her made his way to the rest of the men. She eyed him coolly.

"You said there was trouble with the captain?"

"Aye, Mi'lady," another man sneered, motioning above and behind her. "Trouble is, he's dead."

She turned and saw the captain hanging from the yards, two other bodies hanging beside him. One she recognized immediately as the scullion. All three were covered in blood. Wilar moved quickly to her side and reached for his dagger, but she stilled his hand. _He called me Mi'lady._

"It seems you've made two mistakes. One, I am no lady, and two, alive or dead, the captain is none of my concern." She knew it was no use, but she had to try.

"Oh come now, Mi'lady, don't need to pretend no more." The man walked towards her. "Flynn here heard ye talking th'other night. So, you're either Lady Arya Stark or an imposter." He leaned in close to her face. "Now, We'll have our ransom for turning you over to the King or we'll have our fun with a filthy lying whore, maybe both. Either way, a good day for us, eh lads?" he turned to his crew mates, all laughing and cheering.

Arya scanned the deck, looking for a way out. She clutched at her dagger hilt, but she knew they were outnumbered, even if they each killed one or two, the rest would overwhelm them quickly. Just then, Wilar nudged her and she followed his eyes to a small dinghy that hung over the railing. He leaned down close to her, never taking his eyes off the men before them.

"Go." He whispered, "Now"

"What? No!" but he had already pushed her forcefully towards the small boat.

She turned to go back but a crewman was running at her, knife drawn, and more where right behind him. She pulled both of her daggers free and searched desperately for a way back to help Wilar. But there were too many men before her. She squared herself off and waited for her attackers.

The first man died quickly as she plunged her dagger deep in his neck. But two more replaced him. She blocked a blow from the first man, and ducked behind him as the second swung at her. She kicked at the back of the first man's legs and sent him tumbling into the other. Pouncing on them quickly before they regained their balance, she stabbed one man just below the ribs, twisting her dagger forcefully, before a fist connected with the side of her face. As she blinked away the pain, trying to refocus, a big hand lifted her to her feet by her hair. She flipped her dagger around, and thrust her hand back into the belly of her assailant. The grip on her hair went slack, and she spun around, and drew her dagger across the injured man's throat.

As she stood catching her breath, another crewman came towards her. She wiped her hand on her breeches and tightened her grip on her blade. The man raised his own dagger to strike at her, but before she could block him, he fell forward to the floor, a sword sticking out of his back. She looked back up and saw Wilar running towards her.

"Get on the boat!" he growled at her, clutching at his leg.

"You first!" she yelled and pushed him aside as another man came running at them. She deflected his sword several times, dancing around him as she ducked and weaved. Another man was coming just behind so she pushed the first away, towards Wilar and spun around to face the next. Wilar made quick work of his man, stabbing a dagger in his neck. He ran up behind Arya and pulled her back.

"Get in the damn boat, Arya!"

She opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off.

"Get in! You aren't strong enough to lower it on your own. I'll do it, then I'll jump over!" Now, Go!" He pushed her towards the dinghy again.

She looked at him doubtfully, but he stared back at her pleading with his eyes. Finally, she nodded and climbed down into the boat. Wilar quickly dispatched another crewman before turning back to her. He piled their packs into the boat and reached for the ropes to untie them. With one rope left, he turned to fight off another man. This time, he had been caught off guard. The man had managed to stab him in the arm before Wilar could plunge his blade into his chest.

Seeing several more men close behind, he could only think of one thing to do. He reached out his dagger and tipped over a nearby lantern, the oil spilling across the deck. The flame quickly caught on and he shielded himself from the sudden burst of heat.

Turning once more to the last rope, he couldn't get it loose. He kept looking behind him, making sure no one was near and the flames were still far enough away.

"Wil?" she called up.

The flames were getting close and he could make out two men climbing along the side rails towards them. He took a deep breath and cut the last rope, sending the dinghy crashing into the water just as the men reached him.

"Jump, stupid!" she yelled, almost pleading. She could see nothing but flames on the deck now. _He'll jump, he won't leave me._

The waves of the ocean began to drift her away from the ship. She chewed on her lip as she watched and waited. Just as she was about to turn away, she saw Wilar come over the railing. Grabbing at an oar, she quickly maneuvered the boat towards where her friend had landed. She could make out his outline in the moonlight. She couldn't help but smile.

"You stupid boy! Don't you ever scare me like that again!" She reached a hand out for him to take it.

Wilar didn't move.

She maneuvered the boat closer still until she could see him clearly.

Her friend stare up at her with empty eyes, a crimson line painted across his neck. Arya clutched at his clothing and pulled him into the boat with all her strength, tears staining her cheeks. She lay him down and pulled a cloak from her pack, laying it over him. She threw another cloak over herself.

Grabbing another oar, she began to row. She had no idea which way she was headed, but in that moment she didn't care.


	4. Chapter 4

** Chapter 4 **

Wrapped tightly in her cloak, she stared off into the narrow sea. She had no tears left to cry, no emotions left to feel.

She had spent hours digging with a sharp rock. When she was satisfied that no animals could reach so far, she'd laid Wilar into the cold ground. Kneeling next to the grave, she'd rummaged through his pack until she found an ornate cloak she had gifted him on his last name day.

As she carefully tucked it all around him, she'd said a silent prayer to all the gods, for she never knew which had been Wilar's. She sat and watched him until the eyes staring into the sky became her father's, the open skin a tear across her mother's throat. The hands laid across his chest became Robb's hands that had ruffled her hair so many times when she was a child. She could hear Wilar's laugh as it transformed into the giggles of Bran and Rickon, when she would play a nasty trick on Sansa. She blinked furiously, but it was no use.

The tears had poured down her cheeks as she cried for everyone she had never mourned. She had never cried for the loss of her parents or her siblings, never wept that Sansa might be gone, or that she might lose Jon beyond The Wall. She hadn't spared much time to remember the faces of everyone in Winterfell that had probably died in the invasion. She couldn't. But as she sat by the grave of her best friend, so close to the home she had shared with all those people, she couldn't help but cry. The tears had continued to fall as she pressed the dirt back into the hole, and placed a pile of rocks to mark her friend's final resting place.

And now she sat alone on the shore of the Narrow Sea, staring at the waves as they came and went. Arya had never been very good at being alone, she was fiercely independent, but she had always had someone around to rely on.It was times like these she wished she had been able to be No One. 

She stood from her seat and pulled her hood over her head. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her, she shouldered her pack and took one last look at the grave. Turning her emotionless gaze north, she set out, following the river towards Hornwood.

**oOoOoOo**

"So, why's 'er wolf wanderin' round on 'er own? Yers is never gone more than a day er two." Edd asked, eyeing the wolves as they trudged along west of the party. Jon followed his gaze.

"Arya chased her away on the King's Road when they were heading to King's Landing. Joffrey wanted her killed for attacking him."

Edd grunted his understanding and turned his attention ahead. Grenn ran up from behind and fell in beside them.

"Two more will lose fingers before the day's done. Another at least his foot, if not the whole leg."

"Stannis's?" Jon asked. Grenn Nodded.

"Bloody idiots that lot…" Edd grumbled. "We told 'em, didn't we? To wear the furs? But no. '_We'll wear the King's Sigil proudly, thank you….. I'll not be caught in a fight with naught but fur to stop a blade'_" he imitated. "Fat lot of good any o' that does ye, if you're frozen dead 'fore ye even get there."

Jon sighed as he scanned the landscape before him.

"We'll stop beyond that grove of trees ahead." he decided, nodding towards their destination. "We'll rest, the men can warm themselves, but we break camp and start again before first light. We're close now. I'll not have them knowing we're coming sooner than can be helped." Grenn nodded and turned to go back and relay the message, but Edd spoke up.

"I'll go, 'aven't had a good laugh in days. Might just try strike up a conversation with the one who lost 'is tongue last night." He grinned as he walked away.

"How he's still alive I can't figure." Grenn grimaced at his friend's back. "How close do you suppose we are, then?"

"We'll make it before the next moon." Jon's face set with determination as he watched the wolves from afar. "We have to." Grenn nodded and they marched on in silence.

It had been days since Nymeria appeared, and Jon had become increasingly worried. She seemed more and more on edge the further they traveled and Ghost had picked up on it and followed suit. He couldn't shake the feeling that the wolves' odd behavior had something to do with Arya. _She's all right._ He forced himself to repeat the mantra over and over as they marched across the snowy plain.

Once they'd reached beyond the grove, the men set about building fires and picking through their rations. Jon walked the camp and made sure that everything was in order. He paused to check on the Watchmen, stopped at the Northmans' camps to see that they had everything they needed and nodded to the commanders in Stannis's ranks, giving them ample time to stop him if they had need of him. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but he knew that he had to keep morale up. He had to show the men that everything was going as planned and remind them they were almost there.

With his Lord Commander duties done, he walked to the edge of camp, taking the piece of stale bread and some dried meat that Grenn offered as he passed. He sat in the snow and worked at the meat as he watched the direwolves approaching.

Nymeria's ears perked up and she turned to look south, letting out a low whine. Ghost padded around her a few times and nudged her back towards the camp. She bared her teeth but relented as both wolves turned and continued towards Jon.

Ghost sat beside him, laying his head by Jon's free hand, but Nymeria stopped a few paces out and sat, turning back to stare off to the south.

"Nymeria, come." Jon called, as he scratched behind Ghost's ears. The shewolf turned to Jon with a whine, but wouldn't move. She lay down in the snow and continued to look south. Jon turned to follow her gaze, but all he saw was snow and trees. _She's all right._

He tried to distract himself with thoughts of Winterfell but they all seemed to involve Arya in some way or another. He tried thinking of his time with the wildlings but the memory of abandoning Ygritte, though he knew it would probably mean her death, reminded him that he had abandoned Arya to fend for herself after Ned's execution. Try as he might, he could not push the thoughts of her away.

He remembered the night of her seventh name day when she had accidently walked in on Theon and Ros. She'd run to find him in the yard, ranting that a naked woman was trying to kill Theon. Jon had blushed furiously when he tried to explain what had actually been going on, finally giving up and sending her away after she promised to knock at people's doors before she burst in. Then there was Sansa's eleventh name day, when Arya had sweetly dropped a beautifully wrapped box in her sister's lap during her feast. Sansa beamed as she'd tore the ribbons and pulled back the lid only to find slimy frogs bursting to get out. They'd escaped over the table causing Jeyne to spill her soup all over hers and Sansa's feast-day dresses.

He smiled at the image as he remembered his father half-heartedly scolding her while Lady Catelyn dabbed furiously at Sansa's dress, threatening to lock Arya in her room until the next moon if she couldn't behave a proper lady. All the brothers had failed miserably at muffling their laughter.

His smile quickly faded as the thought was replaced with the memory of the last night they had spent together at Winterfell. The night she had found out he was going to take the Black and been so hurt. The night she had touched him like _that._ And he had liked it, as desperately as he'd wished he hadn't.

He groaned as he passed his hands over his face, trying to repress the memory again. He told himself that they had been two foolish children, lost in confusion and hurt, though he was already a man grown and she had been on the verge of womanhood.

Realizing he would have no more peace as long as he sat there, he stood from the snow and took one last look south before turning to find Grenn and Edd. He would call the commanders to meet so they could discuss the retaking of Winterfell. _That is why I'm here_, he told himself, though deep down he knew more than anything he had come for Arya.

**oOoOoOoOo**

It had been almost a fortnight since she'd set out from the coast of the Narrow Sea. She'd slept only when exhaustion threatened to take her over and eaten what little she was able to catch or pick along the way. She had avoided taverns and inns, only venturing near a town once, and only to steal a garron and some furs and supplies from a poorly-manned stable. Arya doubted that anyone could recognize her after so many years, but she had come too far and was too close to risk it, and despite a few close calls, she had reached her destination quicker than she had hoped.

Now, she stood at the edge of Wintertown, her hood pulled down low over her face, staring at the blackened stone and charred wood of Winterfell.

Arya watched as starving families were turned away at the gates, though some of the prettier girls were ripped from their parents arms and dragged away by one soldier or another, all displaying the flayed man of House Bolton. Orphaned children sat huddled against each other, trying to share the warmth of one small fire that burned in a pit just off the road. She closed her eyes and pushed back her anger. _I can't help them all, not yet. _

As much as she wanted to avoid being recognized, her plan required that she make a choice friend or two, and her best chance of finding what she needed was the Inn.

Motioning to the stable hand who had been watching her, Arya dropped a few coins in the boy's palm and handed over the reins before grabbing her belongings. Once the boy had gone inside, she quickly ducked behind the stable, dropping her packs. She knelt in the snow and dug into it until she reached ground. Removing her gloves, she scraped at the frozen dirt until she had a small handful and smeared it over her face to darken her skin. It was a feeble disguise but she hoped that, together with her years away, she looked different enough to fool any older residents.

Tucking her braid into her wool shirt, she pulled her hood back up and made her way to the Inn where she had seen several soldiers enter not long ago.

"Please, anythin'," a woman stepped in front of her, a small babe in her arms. "the lord won't help us and we've got nothin', they've taken it all. Please." The woman clutched at her arm.

There were so many people around, so many in need, she was afraid that if she helped one, the others would crowd her for more. She couldn't risk that kind of attention.

"Sorry…" She mumbled and shouldered her way past the woman, trying to avoid her pleading stare. She quickened her pace and kept her eyes trained on the ground as she rushed towards the Inn.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: OOOOOOOOOOOhh geeeez, so sorry for the long wait but this chapter was kicking my butt. It's been rewritten or edited in some form or another about 6 billion times but I just couldn't get it to where I was completely happy with it.**

**Anywho, I really hope it was worth the wait, and as always, a big thank you to my reviewers (I will go back and fix the few grammatical/formatting errors you've pointed out sometime this next week, I promise!) And to answer the comment about Jon's speech, that's one of the things I always struggle with when I'm writing. I try to keep everyone as in character as possible while still tweaking them to fit with whats been going on in their lives (i.e. Jon being at the wall for years and spending his time with commoners). Hopefully, I'm doing decently! But, on with the show!**

**And of course, I own nothing. /sadpanda**

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**Chapter 5**

Arya closed the door to her room and threw her pack onto the small table. As she rummaged through her things, pulling out a plain wool dress, there was a knock. She quickly pulled a knife from her waist and inched towards the door.

"Water!" A young girl shouted from the hall. Arya sighed and tucked the dagger back into her belt, cracking the door enough to see a red-headed little girl standing in the hall with a bucket of warm water.

"Thank you." She nodded and took the bucket, closing the door just as the girl had opened her mouth to speak. She leaned against the door and listened, waiting until the girl's footsteps faded. Although she was fairly certain the Innkeeper had bought her story of being from a nearby village come to beg the Lord's help, she could not take any chances now that she was so close.

Satisfied that the girl was long gone and no one else was coming, she set the bucket down and stripped off her clothes. Dipping a small cloth into the warm water, she set about scouring the dirt from her face and body. She hadn't had the opportunity to wash in earnest since she'd left Braavos and it felt good to see the layers of caked on dirt fall away.

Once she had scrubbed herself pink, her hair clean and tied back, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small ebony box. When she had been in the House of Black and White, she often spent time in the common rooms of brothels, learning truths to share with the Kindly Man. She had made several friends of the women there, and one in particular, Sahri, had decided to teach Arya to use her femininity to her advantage, instead of hiding it behind dirt and men's clothes. At first she had refused, but day after day, as she saw the power she could hold with the right touch here and the right words there, she had become a quick student. It was Sahri who had gifted her the ebony box, when Arya told her she was leaving Braavos.

Lifting the lid, she positioned it so she could see her reflection in the tiny mirror inside. She pulled out a little brush and dipped it into the various colored powders, darkening the lids of her eyes and reddening her cheeks. It was subtle, but it would help both disguise her and carry out the rest of her plan.

Satisfied with her look, she put on the wool dress and styled her hair in one long braid that hung over her shoulder. She chose the smallest dagger she had and tucked it into her boot, careful to make sure the dress fell back over it. Finally she grabbed a small vial from her pack and tucked it snuggly into her other boot. Throwing her cloak on, she closed the door behind her as she headed down the hall towards the common room.

At the bottom of the stairs, she paused to take in the room and its occupants, smiling to herself when she spotted two soldiers alone at a table tucked into a shadowy corner. Making her way around the noisy tables, she grabbed two mugs of ale from the bar as she passed and sauntered over towards the two men, gingerly side-stepping another soldier's outstretched arm. _Perfect. _She turned and playfully shook her head as she continued to approach the hidden table, turning back just as she bumped into the first of her targets, sending a slosh of ale into his lap.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She put the mugs down on the table and reached for his napkin. The soldier leaned back in his chair, a crooked smile plastered on his face as Arya bent over his lap and dabbed carefully at his breeches. "Really, I'm just such a-"

"Now, now" he interrupted, taking her under the arm and pulling her up towards him. "It's just some ale, love, but if you feel so bad about it, I'm sure we can think of a way to make up for it, eh?". Arya's chest was at eye level and the man made no attempts to hide his lecherous stare. She quickly looked towards the bar then back.

"It's my first day. The keeper will have me hanged if I don't keep up." She pouted, stepping out of his reach. "Another ale?" She turned to leave, but the man grabbed her arm and pulled her into his lap.

"Feel that?" he bucked up his hips, his hardness pressing into her thigh. "That's your fault, love. I think it's only fair you help me with it, hmm?" he whispered into her ear, his hand kneading at her small breast.

She forced herself to smile as she leaned into the man, pushing away her urge to stab him then and there. _This is what you wanted, stupid. This is what you need._

"Not here!" she swatted his hand away as he reached for the ties at her bodice. He grabbed her face roughly and brought her inches from his own.

"I'll have you wherever I want you, wench. If I want to bend you over this table and fuck you for the whole town to see, that's what I'll do", he snarled.

"Of course," she stammered. _Think, Arya. _"I only meant to say wouldn't you rather go somewhere we can be alone?" she pried his hand from her face and pointedly looked around the room. "Why risk having to share me when you can have me all to yourself for as long as you like?" She leaned into his neck and began to kiss a line up his jaw. Pulling her back in his lap, the soldier slammed his mouth against her own, his tongue forcing her lips apart. _This is what you need. _

It felt like forever to Arya, but a moment later, the soldier was on his feet, dragging her along with him as he left the Inn. As she watched him walk ahead of her, she noticed how drunk he really was. _This could be easier than I'd hoped, just keep it together._

"Better?" He slurred, pushing her face first against the wall of a nearby shop. "No one around" he gestured with his hand as he pressed against her back, leaning in to lick and suck at her neck. His hands found her thighs and he began to pull up her skirts._ This is what you want._

"Nial."

The man released her and they both whirled around to find the other soldier that had been seated across the table.

"Piss off, Thom" Nial grunted, taking a step towards the intruder.

"I would except, well, she doesn't seem too keen on you slobbering all over her," the younger man nodded towards Arya and lay his hand on the hilt of his sword, scrunching up his nose as the other man approached. "And judging by how long it's been since you've washed, I can't say I blame her."

Nial snarled at the other soldier, unsheathing his own sword as he spoke.

"You forget yourself, _boy._ Been here a handful of nights and already all high on ourselves, aren't we?"

"Higher than you." Thom shrugged, "But then, that's not so hard now, is it? What do you say, let her go, she's got work to do. There's enough whores in the camps. You don't need a little serving girl."

Arya's fists clenched in anger. Thom was getting in her way. He was ruining her chance of getting into Winterfell, and now he was calling her a little girl! _I'm a woman grown and I don't need saving!_

"Now, listen here, you-" Arya took a step forward before staggering back into the wall, Nial's hand connecting squarely with her cheek. He turned his angry gaze on her.

"Shut up, bitch. You're not here to talk! And you…," he whirled on Thom, but his words cut off. Arya stared wide-eyed at the slick blade sticking out of his back.

"I'm sorry," Thom mumbled to her, as he pulled his blade from the dead man's gut. "I didn't mean to get you-"

"What did you do?" Arya glared at him.

"What did I do? He hit you! He wasn't just going to walk away and leave you in peace!" Thom retorted, disbelief etched on his face.

"I needed him!" She yelled back before she could catch herself. "I…" _Think. Think. Think._

"You needed him…" Thom said flatly. "You needed him to rape you? You needed him to pass you around the rest of the camp so they can all have a turn at you? Or did you need them to torture you until you beg for death before they feed you piece by piece to Ramsay's bitches!" He grew angrier and angrier as he spoke. Several villagers ducked their heads into the alley to catch of a glimpse of the commotion. Thom glared at them before grabbing Arya under her arm and dragging her further out of earshot, into the open fields behind wintertown.

"So tell me then. What it is it you _needed_ from him?" _Think. Think. Think._

"He promised to take me into the castle," She lied. "My mother worked in the kitchens. She died years ago, but she used to write me letters about how wonderful Winterfell was... and I've finally saved enough money to come here to see it for myself, but they wouldn't let me through the gates. He promised to get me in."

"I bet he did," Thom sighed. "Go home… This isn't the place for childhood fantasies anymore." He turned to leave but Arya grabbed his arm.

" Wait! You could get me in, couldn't you?" She pleaded.

"Are you mad? Have you not heard a thing I said?" He pried her hand from his arm. "I didn't save you from being dragged in there to walk you in myself."

"Why _did_ you save me? I didn't need saving. I knew what I was doing and now you've ruined it, you owe me."

"Ugh, you _are _mad!" he threw his hands in the air.

"If you don't get me in there, I'll just go find another soldier who will. If he demands the same price as _that_ fool" she pointed towards Nial's body, slumped neatly against a wall, like a sleeping drunk, "then so be it!"

"Go on then! Why would I care?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. _This better work. _"But for whatever reason, you cared enough the first time to stop it.

Thom stared at her for a long moment. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but shut it again without uttering a word. Finally, he sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"I'll take you. But!" he held his hand up to silence Arya before she could interrupt. "You say _nothing_. Do exactly as I tell you and you leave right after you've had your look. Leave the town all together if you know what's good for you."

She nodded, afraid to speak in case he changed his mind, and Thom sighed as he held his arm out in the direction of Winterfell.

**oOoOoOo**

"Is it everything you expected?" he asked as he stood beside her and followed her eyes. She couldn't tear her gaze from the charred remains of her childhood home. She had seen it from afar when she first arrived, but to be standing in its very yards, surrounded by all the destruction, her heart ached to cry out. _Now is not the time._

"It's… burned. Black." She whispered.

"Well. It has seen better days, I suppose." He nodded thoughtfully. "Nothing like the stories your mother wrote you, I'm sure. I hope you weren't upset at the gates. It was the only way to get you in without too many questions."

Arya eyed him sideways. She was puzzled by the man. He seemed so out of place with Bolton's men. The others laughed and joked about her family's disgrace, Thom seemed bothered by it. She saw young women in scraps of clothes being passed around as they'd walked through the yards, Thom had averted his eyes, clenching his jaw, as he dragged her along faster than before. _They can't all be monsters, I suppose. _The Boltons were Northmen, she reminded herself, there had to be a few who were still honorable and held some love for her family.

He turned to look at her, and Arya remembered his question. She shook her head, looking forward again.

"I've been called worse. Besides, I'm here aren't I? You got me in. If I had to pretend at being a whore for a few minutes, so be it." She turned back to Thom, who was suddenly very intent on staring at his boots. "Did _I _upset _you?"_

"What? No!" he looked at her, then quickly turned away. "I… you just... didn't need to play along so well, is all. I mean, it helped, I'm sure! but it… wasn't necessary."

Arya would have laughed in any other situation. _Too honorable by half to be here._ She had braced herself to be pinched and groped when she had rubbed up against Thom at the main gate, trying every bit to be the drunken whore he announced her as. But he had almost frozen at her touch and she had to wrap his arms around her waist as they walked past the guards. As soon as they had made it past the main throng of soldiers, Thom had released her and left a good distance between them, grabbing her hand and pulling her along until they found the quiet and secluded spot where they now stood.

Clearing his throat, he moved in front of her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around and pushed her in the direction they had come.

"Well, you've had your look. Time to go."

"Wait, wait!" she dug her heels into the ground.

"Now, what? You can't go any further. This is the best you'll get from anyone if you plan to ever leave again. So let's go." He made to push Arya forward again but she ducked under his arms.

"One thing! Then I promise I'll go"

"What then? It's been long enough and we're both taking a stupid risk standing-" his words were cut off as Arya rushed forward and pressed her lips to his.

"I just wanted to thank you," she whispered, arms wrapped around his neck. She leaned in to kiss him again, but Thom turned his face away.

"You don't have to-"

"I want to.." She leaned in again, and again Thom turned away, this time removing her arms from his neck. He turned completely away from her and took a few steps forward, distancing himself. Arya huffed, scanning the ground around her. _There._

Thom turned towards her but mid-stride, the log of wood Arya had just picked up connected with his head and he crumpled to the ground with a thud. Taking him by the legs, she dragged him into a dark corner of the yard, hoping he wouldn't be found until tomorrow at the least. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, she had meant to slip him some milk of the poppy while he was distracted but that obviously hadn't worked. _Stupid Sahri. I'd like to see your "feminine wiles" work on this lot._

**oOoOoOo**

She carefully worked the bar off the metal gate, scanning around her every so often to make sure no one was approaching. Arya had caught site of the door and its lack of guards while Thom had been dragging her around and made a note of it. _If I could get this stupid bar off, something might actually go my way. _As soon as she completed her thought, the bar slipped loose and she carefully lifted it off the gate. She dug a small hole in the snow at the base of the wall and buried the bar. She had wasted enough time trying to get here and she couldn't risk anyone figuring something was wrong before she could get to Ramsay.

She cracked the gate just enough to squeeze through, shutting it quietly once she was back on the outside. Locating Winter town to orient herself, she made her way to the lonely sentinel she had used to mark the location of her supplies. She ducked under it and pulled out the rolled up cloak and its contents.

Making sure she was alone, Arya set about removing her dress and replacing it with a black wool shirt and breeches. She tugged off her fancy boots, transferring the dagger and vial to the blackened leather boots that replaced them.

Her teeth chattered in the cold, but she focused on buckling her belt and sliding Needle into its sheath. She had outgrown the blade some time ago, but she found some poetic justice in using it to end Ramsay's life. It was one of the last happy memories she had in Winterfell, and she thought it only right that it play a part in taking it back.

One last check to make sure all her weapons were secure and she pulled a black cowl over her head. The shadows would be her best weapon tonight and she would blend perfectly in her attire.

She took another look around, before kicking her dress under the Sentinel and sprinting back towards the castle gate.

**oOoOoOo**

Inside, she replaced the metal bar on the gate and crept along the shadow of the wall, eyes darting back and forth for any sign of approaching soldiers. She could see the gate into the inner castle just across the yard. Once she made it, Arya hoped her years of climbing and creeping through Winterfell's rooftops and alleyways would prove useful enough to get her to Ramsay's rooms without detection. _Make it first, then worry about it._

As she was about to step out into the open yard, she caught the chatter of approaching soldiers and pressed herself back against the wall. A small group of men rounded the corner. Though they seemed to be some sort of patrol, they were too engrossed in their own conversations to properly scan the area and they marched right past Arya. Waiting until they turned the other corner, she stepped back into the yard and ran across to the next gate.

The bar at this door proved much easier than the last and she quickly slipped through. As she closed the gate, another group of men marched towards her. She ducked behind the stables until she could no longer hear them. Leaning her head out to make sure they had gone, she noticed a kennel set up across the yard.

She could see several huge dogs huddled at the fence, close to the fires that burned nearby, and something else. _Is that a man? _She squinted to try and see better and she could make out what seemed to be a man inside the kennels huddled up beside the dogs. She leaned out further trying to make sure of what she was seeing, when suddenly one of the dogs was on his feet staring right in her direction. Just as quickly, turned to look in the same direction.

Arya quickly ducked back behind the stables and held her breath, waiting for the man to set off an alarm. She waited and waited but nothing happened. _He didn't see me. _She sighed in relief.

She wouldn't risk walking back into view of the man or the dogs so she turned in the opposite direction and crept out the other side of the stables. Again, another patrol of men came into view, and again she ducked behind the building. _There's too many. _She would have to find somewhere to hide while she figured a way around so many men in the main yards. She watched as they passed, a foul smell getting stronger and stronger. _Seven hells. _She covered her nose and mouth as she turned back into the shadows. _What is that sm- _

Her thought interrupted as her head exploded in pain. Her knees buckled beneath her and she fell to the ground. She tried to make out her assailant but all she could sense was that horrible stench and then everything went black.

**oOoOoOo**

Jon stood at the edge of the Wolfswood, staring at the outline of Winterfell in the glow of the rising sun. Edd stood beside him in silence and the other commanders stood further back, waiting for Jon to give orders.

"He should have been back by now…" he spoke up. "he should have been back last night."

Normally Edd would have had a witty response, but he was just as worried as Jon now. They had both sat up all night waiting for Grenn to return from Winterfell. He had ridden ahead days before to try and infiltrate Bolton's ranks and secure a way into the castle for them. They had agreed that he would meet them in the Wolfswood last night and tell the council what he had learned, but he never showed.

"I shouldn't have let him go…"

"Lord Commander," one of Stannis's officers stepped forward "Mayhaps we should begin to discuss another plan. If they've killed your man-"

"They've not killed him." Edd broke in.

"All the same," the officer regarded Edd with indifference "If… your man doesn't show soon, well…"

"We wait." Jon replied, eyes still trained on the castle. "He'll show."

"Very well… If I may be excused then, I shall see to my men".

Jon nodded absentmindedly, and the officer took his leave.

"You may all go," Jon turned to the other commanders. "Make sure the men are ready. We strike tonight. No doubt they know we're here by now, or will soon enough."

The commanders retreated, leaving the two men waiting for their friend.

"They've not killed him" Edd repeated, for his own benefit as much as Jon's. "Fool's probably lost in the courtyard, wanderin' in circles tryin' to find his way out."

"Lord Commander!" a young Watchman burst through the trees. "They've found him!". The two men turned in unison.

"_Found _him?" Edd demanded before Jon could speak.

"Aye, they've taken him to Stannis's camp."

Jon and Edd shared a look before hurrying back towards camp, the young crow in tow.

Inside the camp, men were huddled in groups trying to figure out what the commotion was. Only the commanders had been privy to their plans, so confusion took over the camp when Stannis's men dragged a man in Bolton colors through their ranks.

"Where did they go?" Jon asked a group of men as he passed, hurrying off in the direction they pointed.

As he burst through the ring of men, he found Grenn sitting on the ground, holding a piece of wet cloth to his head. Edd broke through the mob just behind Jon. He took a moment to assess the situation.

Seeing that Grenn was alive and relatively well, he turned on the young crow that had come to get them.

"You bloody twat! Talkin' like he's been run through, crawlin' back to us in a pool of his own blood!" He smacked the young man upside the head. " And here he is, sittin' pretty as ye like, with a little scratch on his head!" He smacked him again, before the boy ducked back into the crowd.

"Well, glad to see things haven't changed since I left." Grenn smiled, getting to his feet to meet them halfway.

"Are you all right?" Jon asked, eyeing the bruise on Grenn's forehead. He nodded.

Jon motioned with his head away from the crowd and the three men walked out of the camp.

"We were expecting you last night. What happened?"

Grenn sighed and looked at his feet.

"I ran into some trouble." He finally admitted. "there was this girl."

"Oh seven hells" Edd broke in.

"Not like that!" Grenn quickly added. "Just, you can't imagine what I saw. The women…they… I couldn't help them, I thought if I could at least help this one."

Jon nodded to Grenn, encouraging him to go on.

"But she threw herself at me," He turned to look Jon square in the eye "I swear I didn't ask for it. I turned her away and well, she hit me."

"She hit you?" Jon raised an eyebrow.

"She hit me!" Grenn repeated, pointing to the bruise on his forehead, then his expression changed to one of pure embarrassment and he lowered his voice. "Anyway, I was out cold until this morning."

Edd burst out laughing and Jon had to cover his mouth with his hand to try and hide his smile.

"Oh shut up," Grenn mumbled. "I'm awake, I'm here, and I've got our way in so shut your bloody faces."

"Well then, we'd best call the commanders to council. We need to know everything you leanred before tonight." Jon clapped Grenn on the back as they turned back towards the men.

"She knocked him out cold!" Edd continued behind them, shaking his head as he joined them and the three men returned to camp.


End file.
